


As I Find You

by Mayarene Rose (Paradise_of_Mary_Jane)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 02:51:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12547160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paradise_of_Mary_Jane/pseuds/Mayarene%20Rose
Summary: Viktor is used to waking up in a bed that's not his. What he's not used to is waking up in a place that he doesn't remember falling asleep in, next to a person he doesn't remember falling asleep next to.





	As I Find You

**Author's Note:**

> Nearly 10k oh my god. 
> 
> Anyway, check the end notes if you want to watch me try and make sense of the timeline of this fic.

Over the years, Viktor’s gotten very used to the feeling of waking up in a bed that’s not his own. It’s practically a given with the life he’s living, between all the competing and just accidentally falling asleep on one of the benches at the rink locker room. He’s used to it. He’s developed the uncanny ability to fall asleep absolutely anywhere. Top skaters need their rest, after all.

 He’s also used to waking up next to someone on a bed. He’s twenty and he’s been to the Olympics. He’s considered to be one of the most eligible bachelors in figure skating. Viktor usually doesn’t have the time to look but when he does, he doesn’t have to try very hard to find someone to warm his bed.

 He’s done many things in the beds of other people and it was rarely sleeping. Sometimes they let him stay and sometimes he lets them stay. Sometimes they don’t and Viktor shrugs and casually walks back to his hotel room or apartment on whatever corner of the world he’s found himself that day.

 Nevertheless, he’s used to falling asleep in a bed that’s not his.

 What he’s not used to is waking up in a bed that he most definitely didn’t fall asleep on, next to a person he most definitely does not know.

 The stranger is asleep next to him, mouth open and snoring slightly. Just a teenager, really, cheeks still a bit chubby from youth, and the beginnings of acne still on his skin, not that Viktor’s much better, but _holy hell he’s young and what he’s thinking cannot have possibly happened._

 He gets up, making as little noise as possible. It would probably be best if he doesn’t wake up the other guy without first figuring out what the hell’s going on. Viktor looks around. There’s something almost familiar about the room, something about it that he definitely knows, but at the same time, he’s pretty sure that he’s never been there before. There are pictures he doesn’t recognize, trinkets that are not his, and, well, there’s a person beside him that he definitely doesn’t remember.

 “Hey,” Viktor says, nudging the stranger. “Wake up.”

The other person doesn’t even stir. Viktor nudges him again, but to no avail. He pokes the stranger in the ribs and nothing. Not even a twitch. Viktor would think he’s dead if it weren’t for the very steady rise and fall of his chest and the flutter of his eyelashes. The guy’s definitely alive, he’s just not waking up. Whoever he’d fallen into bed with, they are apparently a really heavy sleeper.

Maybe he should just…

Viktor slowly, and very, very carefully tiptoes out of bed. He’s fully clothed, thank god, which means nothing bad happened the night before. But that doesn’t answer what he’s doing there in the first place.The carpet is soft, warm, and familiar on his bare feet. Strange. It’s the exact same carpet he uses for his apartment. He thinks back and… He definitely remembers falling asleep at the rink after an exhausting practices session.

Did someone wake him up and drag him here? If so how had he not woken up? Why was there another person beside him? Was he kidnapped? Were they both kidnapped? He doesn’t think kidnappers would let the people they kidnap sleep on such warm, soft beds, but then again he wouldn’t know. He’s never been kidnapped before.

Viktor likes to think that he would’ve noticed if he was kidnapped.

He carefully bounds out the room.The door creaks slightly when he opens it but the other person doesn’t even seem to notice, merely rolling over and clutching the pillow in his arms even tighter. The wallpaper is familiar, so is the way sunlight is streaming through one of the windows. The hallways is generic enough that it could have come from anywhere but… He’s definitely been here before, though he can’t imagine when. He walks through the hallway and into the living room and…

His mouth falls open.

“This is my apartment,” he says, voice slightly hysterical. “I’m in my apartment.”

It’s unmistakably his. That couch was the one his mama had picked out when he moved in here, just a few months ago, and that’s his bookcase, and he even recognized some of the trophies in the trophy case, although it’s a lot fuller than he remembers. There are things that are definitely not his but most of it is.

It’s his apartment. He’s in his apartment.

“Oi Viktor is that you? What’s for--”

There’s the sound of crashing plates and a loud string of Russian curses and Viktor is suddenly face to face with a blond, very angry, and very surprised looking man.

“What the--Who are--What is happening?” he demands.

“Where am I?” Viktor asks at the same time the blond man says,

“How are _you_ here?” He is staring at Viktor, mouth opening and closing like a person-shaped fish.

“This is not possible,” he says. “This is not possible.”

“Who are you?” Viktor demands.”What is this place and what are those?” He points towards the dresser full of pictures. He would know that face anywhere, those eyes, he’d have to after staring at it in the mirror for twenty whole years. His hair is shorter but it’s definitely him… Same eyes, same cheekbones, same forehead. It’s him wearing a white suite, arms wrapped around a shorter man with dark hair that looks eerily similar to the stranger who was still asleep in bed.

“This is not possible,” the blond man--teenager? Something in-between maybe?--repeats. “How did you get here?"

“I don’t know,” Viktor says, frustrated. “I just woke up there.” He points towards the bedroom. The blond man slowly turns towards the room.

“You just woke up,” he repeats. “And you just--”

“Did you kidnap me?” Viktor asks. He’s not panicking. His voice is as cool, calm, and collected as ever because he is Viktor Nikiforov and Viktor Nikiforov does not panic. He just doesn’t. He puts on a charming smile and gets what he wants through sheer force of will; from the quad flip that he will eventually land, no matter what Yakov says, to the lingerie inspired costume he wore at Junior Worlds. That’s just the way it is and it usually works so Viktor doesn’t question it much. “Because I’d really like to go home now.”

The teenager lets out a long string of Russian curses that Viktor can’t help but agree with. He charges towards the bedroom with the force of a hurricane. Viktor tries to stop him, but to no avail.

“There’s someone sleeping there,” he says. “You shouldn’t--”

The man’s eyes widen

“There’s someone else with you? Who?”

“I don’t know! He’s asleep. He has dark hair and beautiful skin and--”

Another string of Russian curses and now the man seems angrier. The man wrenches the door open and somehow, the stranger on the bed _still_ hasn’t woken up. The man turns back to Viktor.

“You. Stay where you are. Don’t move. Don’t _breathe_.”

Viktor isn’t really one to do as he’s told, but he nods silently. The man marches into the room.

“Katsudon!” he hollers. A string of words in another language follows it. Japanese, maybe, with smatterings of English and Russian. The stranger on the bed finally, _finally_ wakes up. He sits bolt upright. He stares at the blond man in confusion. The man is frozen in his spot.

“This is not happening,” he mutters, back to Russian. “This can’t be happening. I’m dreaming. This is just a dream.”

“What is happening?”

“Stay there!”

A yelp, then a lot of curses in Russian, English, and yes, that’s definitely Japanese before the angry man emerges from the bedroom, the stranger in tow. He’s holding him by the arm in a vice grip.

“Now will you explain what’s happening?” Viktor asks.

“I don’t know what’s happening!”

“What are you talking about?” the stranger asks softly, in English. The words sound heavy on his tongue, like he knows how to use them but he’s still not quite used to them. His eyes are wide, and he’s staring at Viktor, mouth parted open. “I--I don’t understand Russian.”

The man turns to him, his mouth open and closing repeatedly.

“What are your names?” the blond man growls in English.

“Yuuri Katsuki,” the dark haired man says at the same time Viktor says, “Viktor Nikiforov.”

The angry man curses. He pinches the bridge of his nose. The stranger’s--Yuuri Katsuki’s--eyes widen. He pinches himself and his eyes widen further when nothing happens. Viktor tilts his head curiously and pinches himself. Damn. He’d hoped it was a dream.

“Shit. Fucking hell--only those two--What the fuck?"

“What’s going on?” Yuuri Katsuki asks softly. “This--It’s a dream, right? I’m dreaming.”

The younger man’s attention snaps back to them.

“What year is it where you’re from?” he demands.

“2008,” Victor says.

“Shit. I wish this was a dream, Katsudon.”

“What is happening? Where are we?

The man silently brings out a… Phone? It looks like one but slimmer, larger. Victor doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything quite like it. He shoves it towards the two of them.

“What is this?” Victor asks. “What am I supposed to be looking--oh.”

“Oh,” the blond man agrees gravely.

The year on the phone is 2018.

Well, shit.

 

\--

 

Yuuri Katsuki pinches himself hard enough to leave a bruise, for the fourth time, but still to no avail. He’s still here. He still isn’t waking up. In this beautiful apartment that is definitely _not_ in Japan, let alone in Hasetsu, which is the place where he remembers asleep, ten years in the past, apparently, with _Viktor Nikiforov_ and another Russian man sitting beside him. Viktor Nikiforov is sitting beside him.

There’s also the abundance of pictures in the apartment that Yuuri is very pointedly not looking at. He hadn’t thought about it but if they were ten years into the future and it wasn’t impossible for Viktor Nikiforov to cut his hair in that span of time, and those blue eyes and heart-shaped smiles were rather unmistakable.

And it’s possible… The hair is the same, a little longer perhaps, but definitely the same, along with the blue-framed glasses and those brown eyes…

No. Yuuri shuts down that train of thought immediately because it’s stupid. It’s just stupid. It’s the stupidest thing he’s ever come up with. This is very clearly a dream and dreams are fantasies and for Yuuri to even consider…

But.

Why on earth would he think that….

Oh, and some of those pictures definitely look like wedding photos. Maybe he and Viktor had been invited to the same wedding and… and… and…

(Is that him _pole dancing_?)

No. Yuuri is most definitely not thinking about this. That’s just asking for trouble and it’s not like he enjoys being a blubbering mess. This is a thing he can think about later. Right now, he needs to focus on how he got here and, more importantly, how he can get back to his own time.

Or wake up from this stupid (fantasy-fulfilling, amazing, incredible. Really who hasn’t dreamt about being married to their celebrity crush?) dream. Whichever comes first.

The blond--golden blond, not like Viktor’s lovely, unearthly platinum hair--man had sat them down on the couch and had offered them tea. He still looks furious, gripping the mugs with a death grip before offering it to them, but Yuuri thinks that there was an underlying layer of panic and disbelief in his eyes as well, which Yuuri can’t really fault him for. _He’s_ definitely panicking.

Now that Yuuri’s taking the time to look (anything but the pictures and god, why were there even so many pictures? who needed so many pictures in their lives?), the blond man looks to be around the same age as he is. His long blond hair--not as long as Viktor Nikiforov’s hair, but still pretty long--is pulled into a hasty braid. His eyes keep flitting back and forth between Yuuri and Viktor Nikiforov.

“Here.” He shoves one of the mugs towards Yuuri. “Tea. It’ll calm you down.”

Yuuri accepts it silently, taking a sip. It does calm him down a bit. Well, enough that his breathing can attempt to even out again. He’s not quite hyperventilating but it’s a close thing. The tea also adds a thousand other questions in his mind and reinforces the idea that he is, in fact, dreaming. There’s no other explanation for how he’s drinking what he’s drinking. Green Tea. The blond man had given him green tea. Not just green tea but his favorite kind, the kind his mother makes back in Hasetsu. Not the one for the guests at the onsen but her own special recipe, just for the family, the one that has just the slightest dash of mint. He doesn’t know if he wants to know how the blond man knew to make it.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri says quietly. “I forgot to ask your name.”

The blond man turns to him. He opens his mouth then closes it again, a dark looking passing over his face.

“Yurio,” he mutters. “The two of you--older yous--call me Yurio.”

“I don’t--”

“And we’re in the future?” Viktor asks. Yuuri nearly jumps. It’s the first time Viktor’s said anything since Yurio had shown him his phone. He is again, suddenly very aware of how close he’s sitting to Viktor Nikiforov. Close enough that their thighs are touching and his hair is tickling Yuuri’s waist. He still smells a lot like sleep and if Yuuri turns around enough, he can see the smattering of freckles on his nose. Dream. Dream. Dream. Yuuri pinches himself again. He really, really wants to wake up now. “We’re really in the future? This isn’t just some horrible, and very not-funny prank?”

“Not a prank,” Yurio says. “This is the furthest thing from a prank that’s ever happened to me.”

“What are we going to do?” Viktor asks. “How do we get back? I have to train for Worlds.”

“You’re going to stay here,” Yurio says. “We can’t--I am not going to explain to anyone how any of this happened so you can train. The two of you are staying here.”

“But--”

“No buts,” Yurio snaps. “You’re staying here. I’ll--I’ll be back later. Don’t go out. I’ll figure out your training later. We’re--fuck, what the fuck are we going to do? I’m not paid enough for this, fucking hell. Don’t go out,” he repeats with a very pointed look at Viktor Nikiforov. Viktor Nikiforov smiles at him.

“I’m going now,” Yurio says. “Stay here. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

He leaves.

Yuuri pinches himself again. Still not waking up. He really wishes he could wake up now. It’s awkward and uncomfortable and really, if he’s dreaming that he’s in the same room with Viktor Nikiforov, he could at least dream himself into saying a few words.

“So,” Viktor Nikiforov says. “Do you know who I am?”

Yuuri nods silently.

“Are you a figure skater, too?”

Another nod.

“Juniors?” Viktor Nikiforov asks.

Yuuri nods again. He can’t seem to be making his mouth work. This, whatever this is, it’s definitely not a dream. A dream would mean that Yuuri would be making friends with Viktor Nikiforov, being cool and confident, and all the things he’s absolutely not. Things would be going perfectly because it’s a dream and he can justify perfection in a dream. He almost wishes that whatever was happening is real and that he actually, for some unknown reason, travelled ten years into the future. Because if it’s not…

It may be the single worst nightmare of his life.

“Are you also training for Worlds?”

“Y-Yes. I am.”

“Great.” Viktor Nikiforov’s mouth widens into an excited grin. There’s a mischievous look in his eye. “Then it’s decided.”

“What is?”

The grin widens.

“Well, we’re sneaking into the ice rink to practice, of course!”

 

\--

 

It takes exactly two seconds after Yurio had told them to stay put for Viktor to think, ‘Oh, hell no.’ He’s never been one for following orders, especially when it comes to skating. He likes to think of himself as a free-spirit, one that couldn’t possibly be contained by rules or commands by blonds who look way too young to be giving him orders. He wouldn’t be able to surprise people if he did as he was told, now would he?

It takes around two hours for Yuuri Katsuki to convince him that it is, in fact, not a good idea.

“We’d get caught,” he argues quietly. “The rink would be full of skaters at this time.”

Which is reasonable but not at all the answer Viktor wants. He pouts, but it doesn’t achieve the desired effect since Yuuri’s not even looking at him.

“We should go at night,” Yuuri suggests after a moment’s pause. He doesn’t seem to like looking at Viktor very much. His eyes settle on everything but him, which is odd. At this point, Viktor’s already gotten used to--even expecting--the weight of everyone’s eyes on him whenever he walks into a room. “So no one will see us.”

Viktor claps his hands together, mouth widening in a grin. He’d take every victory he can get.

“Amazing! Perfect! The rink closes at eight but the staff doesn’t leave until nine. We can go then. It’s only a five minute walk from where we are.”

“Uh--okay, then. Okay.”

They don’t talk anymore after that. Yuuri Katsuki barely even looks at him. Viktor… Viktor doesn’t quite know what to do? What is he _supposed_ to do? He’s in a place that’s not his own, having at least another twelve hours to kill, with a person who clearly does not want to talk to him. Would it be rude to snoop through his future self’s things? He already owns some of the books in the bookshelf. Does that means he’s allowed to read them?

Would it end horribly for him if he ends up looking at the trophy case? Some sort of paradox? How can he win something that he already knows he won? Does this mean that he’s not going to win any of the medals in the case? All of it sounds like the plot of a bad nineties sci-fi novel.

Yurio, true to his word, returns after a few hours, bearing lunch and a few other things, and of course, ruins all of Viktor’s carefully laid out plans.

“You’re not going to the ice rink,” is the first thing he says when he catches the look on Viktor’s face. Viktor decides to completely ignore him as he lays the groceries on the table.

“When do we get to go to the ice rink?” Viktor asks. Yurio sends him an annoyed glare. It seems to be his default expression.

“You’re not going to the ice rink,” Yurio says. “You’re too noticeable. It’ll attract too much attention. Or do you want to explain how Viktor Nikiforov is suddenly sixteen again?”

“I’m twenty!"

Yurio glares. “I don’t care. You’re not going.”

Viktor crosses his arm over his chest. “Really? Because Yuuri and I think differently. We’re going to Worlds! And we don’t really need your permission do we, Yuuri?”

Yuuri shakes his head, eyes on the floor. He seems to be pinching himself repeatedly.

“We need to go to an ice rink,” he says, quietly but firmly.

Yurio turns to him.

“ _You’re_ agreeing with him?” he demands. “You want to practice with him?”

Yuuri hesitates. His eyes are flickering between Viktor and Yurio nervously, and alright, Viktor can take a hint; he knows when he’s not wanted. All he wants to know is why on earth Yuuri seems averse to his presence. Sure, he’s a bit arrogant but he’s not that bad, is he? Yuuri seems like such a nice person.

“We need to go to the rink,” Yuuri repeats.

Yurio sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You’re as bad as each other. Fine. Tonight. The two of you, honestly. You’re horrible. How can you be so horrible even before I met you? It’s not like I can stop you if I disagreed, can I?”

Viktor shakes his head.

“No,” he says brightly. “You really can’t.”

“Fine,” Yurio says again. “But we are doing something about your hair.”

Something, it turns out, braiding it as tightly as he can and coiling it before cramming everything under a hood that should not be physically large enough to hold all of that hair but somehow does. Yurio had attempted to run towards him with scissors but Viktor’s had plenty of experience with that kind of thing. It takes nearly an hour for Yurio to find him crammed in a closet in the kitchen.

Yuuri stands to the side throughout the entire process. He had seen Viktor hiding in the closet but hadn’t said a word. The more Viktor looks at him, and he can’t help but look at him for some reason, the more he’s intrigued. He’s a figure skater, or at least a dancer; Viktor can tell that from the way he holds himself alone. There’s a control there, an undeniable grace, but at the same time, he seems to be doing his best to push all of it down, sitting hunched in on himself, not making eye contact. He seems to be doing his best not to be noticed, which is a bit odd. Viktor doesn’t think he’s met a figure skater who doesn’t like to be noticed, even just a tiny bit. They are performers, after all.

The walk to the rink is short. Yuuri and Viktor are bundled up in coats that are too big for them, buried under scarves and bonnets because Yurio is paranoid. Viktor watches Yuuri look around the city, open-mouthed, eyes shining

“Have you ever been to St. Petersburg?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri shakes his head.

“So what do you think? You don’t really get to see the tourist spots from here but it’s a beautiful part of the most beautiful city, don’t you think? Majestic?”

“Cold,” Yuuri mutters. “Really cold.”

“Oh are you cold? Here, take my scarf--”

Viktor is cut off by Yurio muttering, “How are you so disgusting? You haven’t even met yet.” He hands his scarf to Yuuri, nonetheless, but Yuuri rejects it with a furious shake of his head, taking several steps away from Viktor.

“I don’t need another scarf,” he all but shouts. Viktor takes back his scarf, only a little bit disappointed. They’ve reached the rink, at any rate. Yuuri won’t need his scarf anymore. They’ll be ice skating. people don’t wear scarves while ice skating. Well, Viktor had tried once but Yakov vetoed his decision. Dangerous he had said, though Viktor can’t imagine how the danger could outweigh how amazing it would look.

Something in Yuuri seems to unwind the moment he steps into the rink. The tension in his shoulders loosen a bit and the furrow between his eyebrows disappear. He seems more at ease here, more grounded. Viktor can relate; he feels more at home near the ice, too. It must be much worse for Yuuri; Viktor is still in St. Petersburg at his home rink, albeit ten years into the future. Yuuri was another _continent_ away when he fell asleep.

“Warm up properly,”Yurio mutters.

“Tell me about your programs,” Viktor says, as he’s laying a yoga mat out on the floor. Yuuri is already sprawled across his own.

Yuuri doesn’t answer. He’s already doing basic stretches, splits, toe reaches, and oh, he definitely did ballet with that kind of flexibility. He’s wearing earbuds, though, so maybe he just didn’t hear Viktor. No matter, Viktor will see his programs soon enough. Whatever brought them here brought them together for a reason, and what other reason does Viktor have other than skating?

Whatever this is, it’s about skating, Viktor is sure of it.

He can’t wait to see Yuuri skate.

 

\--

 

Yuuri is beginning to see that his idea, is in fact, not a very good idea. It may be the single worst idea he’s ever had in his entire life, which is saying a lot, considering his past record. He doesn’t know why he even agreed to it. Alright, that’s a lie. Yuuri does know, and it’s something other than the fact that he is a complete and utter idiot.

He doesn’t think that his excuse is good enough, but Yuuri will take anything he can get. Right now, it’s the only thing stopping him from having a full-blown panic attack.

He’s going to skate. He’s going to skate in front of Viktor Nikiforov. Viktor Nikiforov is going to be watching him practice his routines. While skating. They’ll be on the same ice together.

And to top it all off, he’s going to be in _borrowed_ skates.

(Alright, technically they’re still his skates, just ten years into the future. Thankfully enough, they still fit, or enough that Yuuri can cram his feet into them without too much pain. Theoretically, it should work fine for a few days or weeks--Yuuri really, really hopes that it won’t reach weeks-- of practice, but it’s not the same. Yuuri had spent months breaking in his own skates in his own time and he doesn’t doubt that this Yuuri did the same with these skates. Here’s the thing, no one can break skates in the same way twice and there’s just something inherently wrong about the pair he’s wearing.)

Yuuri doesn’t know why he was stupid enough to think that this was a dream, even for a small moment. This isn’t a dream. It’s the exact opposite of a dream. This is his worst nightmare. This is worse than his worst nightmare. This is so bad that yes, Yuuri is actually believing that he’s in the future because his subconscious is horrible but he doubts it could come out with something this bad.

Viktor doesn’t seem all that bothered that he’s using his older self’s skates, still looking as cheerful and calm as ever. There’s a steely determination in his eyes, though, every time he looks up at the ice. Maybe he’s a little like Yuuri in that way; there’s just a burning need to get on the ice, it doesn’t matter how. They just need to be there.

Viktor had always looked so at home on the ice, at any rate.

Yurio stands off to the side, arms crossed over his chest. He’s glaring but then, that seems to be his default expression. Yuuri is beginning to settle more comfortably against it. He’s spent sixteen years of his life convincing himself that everyone is barely tolerating his presence; to see Yurio actually barely tolerate his presence… Well, there’s nothing new there. It’s definitely more familiar than anything Yuuri’s been through so far.

The ice rink is empty and dark. The artificial lights casts dark shadows around it, making it look more menacing than it actually is. Yuuri doesn’t mind. He’s gotten used to dark rinks over the years. He never bothers to turn the lights on when he goes to Ice Castle on his own in the middle of the night to skate. That would be wasting precious seconds when there are better things to be done.

Viktor, it seems, is just as comfortable with dark, empty rinks. Or maybe he’s just comfortable in ice rinks in general, whatever shape or form. Yuuri thinks that he should be more surprised about that than he actually is.

“Let’s go!” Viktor says excitedly.

“Warm up first on the ice,” Yurio says. “God am I supposed to be coaching you? What the hell? I’m not paid for this shit. How the fuck am I coaching you? Okay, go through compulsory figures then your step sequence. What jumps can you do? Never mind, we’ll get to that later. A full run through of your routines, then let’s work on jumps. You’re up first after the warm-ups, Katsuki.”

Yuuri startles. He turns to Yurio with wide eyes.

“What?”

“I said you’re up first,” Yurio says. He searches Yuuri’s face, then, like he can read Yuuri’s mind or something, his eyes flicker to Viktor. The same Viktor who is still sitting on one of the benches, watching the exchange with curious eyes. Whatever Yurio sees make him roll his eyes, mouth set in a hard line. “Step sequence. Then Viktor then--Jesus, I’m not qualified for this shit. Don’t worry. You’re probably going to flub all of your jumps and crash land but it’s not like you’re not used to that, eh?”

Somehow, that calms a bit of Yuuri’s nerves. When Yurio says it, it almost sounds comforting.

“What are the two of you staring at?” Yurio demands. Yuuri jumps and turns to Viktor who is staring at… Yuuri. Viktor Nikiforov is staring at him. Yuuri doesn’t know what he’s supposed to make of it. “On the ice! Now!”

Yuuri doesn’t jump this time, but he does startle like a deer. He all but runs towards the ice. The ice is good, the ice is familiar. The ice is probably the furthest Yuuri can get from Viktor Nikiforov.

Or so he thought until Viktor Nikiforov goes in just after him.

 

\--

 

Yuuri Katsuki is, simultaneously, one of the most beautiful and the most perplexing skater that Viktor’s ever seen.

“He’s amazing,” he says as Yuuri finishes a near perfect step-sequence. Viktor’s not even exaggerating; that quality of step sequence should have belonged in a movie or a novel written by someone who is not a figure skater. It’s too damn perfect to actually be real.

The two of them had hardly talked through warm-ups; Viktor was too busy picturing his short program in his own head--Yurio had found their musics for them so that’s no problem, but it’s always good to make sure he’s not going to mess it up--and Yuuri, it seemed, was also too lost in his own head. No point in talking to figure skaters on the ice, anyway; at least not the ones worth talking to.

Then Yuuri had gone through his step sequence and Viktor? Viktor thinks he may have fallen in love just a little. If there was music in Yuuri’s limbs while he walked, he had an entire symphony while he skated. No, that was wrong. Viktor doesn’t think he’s falling in love, he already has. How can he not? With something as beautiful as that, it’s more surprising that no one else has.

(Or maybe there has, back in their own time. A part of Viktor sorely wishes there wasn’t. That would make things horribly complicated.)

Viktor goes through his own step sequence in a daze. What does it matter when Yuuri is already miles ahead of him and he’s still in Juniors. It doesn’t even matter how much Yuuri falls while practicing triples. Jumps can be learned, can be practiced, and can be perfected. Artistry, music, life, those are things you have to figure out for yourself.

And Yuuri, it seems, has most of it figured out already.

“He’s going to beat me,” he says, breathless. “Once he gets used to jumps, I won’t stand a chance.” Yurio glances over at him.

“Yeah, he will. One day.”

“I’d let him.”

Yurio lets out a bark of laughter. The sound of it is very bitter.

“No you won’t.”

“No I won’t,” Viktor agrees. “But that’s what makes it fun!”

Yurio is standing beside him, arms crossed, watching Yuuri with a critical eye. He made Yuuri run through his short program again, which is much more productive than going through his jumps. He’s very efficient that way.

“His jumps are horrible,” he says. As if proving his words, Yuuri falls badly on a triple axle. Again. It must be the third time now.

“He gets up quickly,” Viktor shoots back.

Yurio tilts his head in acknowledgement, face unreadable. Yuuri continues on as if nothing happened, ina bauer, combination spin. There’s a music in the way he moves, an inexplicable grace. The more technical side of Viktor can see the precision in it, the way his skates cut clean line across the ice, the speed of his spins. Perfect form in everything. It’s almost a little too unreal.

( _How is he still in Juniors?_ That kind of skating is already way past some of the skaters Viktor is competing with. He’s half-eager half-dreading the day Yuuri joins them. It’s going to be beautiful. A competition in a way that rarely happens for Viktor nowadays. He can just imagine it.)

“When is he moving onto the Seniors?” Viktor asks. He’d adore to compete against someone like Yuuri. It would be beautiful. He can almost see it now. A race to the podium, especially now that the greatest men’s singles skaters are all starting to retire. It would be perfect.

Viktor is most definitely in love.

“Not for a while,” Yurio says. “He’s be too busy breaking your Junior world records for now.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Of course you can’t.”

Viktor bites his lip. There’s something in Yurio’s tone, something almost scathing, bordering on hateful. He wonders if Yurio actually even likes either of them. He is with them now, but he acts like he can barely stand it. Why was he here? Yuuri is nearing the end of his program and he’s still there, doing triple combinations like they’re nothing. He doesn’t even look winded. Viktor would _kill_ for that kind of stamina.

Of course, there are other things that kind of stamina can be use for. It’s really hard to miss how they woke up on the same bed, in a bedroom littered with their pictures, pictures where they are together. It’s impossible to miss how Yurio hadn’t even been surprised that they were on the same bed, had been expecting it even.

“I--I saw the pictures at the apartment. What are we to each other, Yurio?”

“I’d tell you,” Yurio says. “But I honestly think you already know. Or at least you want it to be.”

Viktor turns to Yurio, surprised. Yurio rolls his eyes, just as Yuuri comes out of his final pose.

“You,” he says. “Are not subtle. At any age. You’re triple axel’s height sucks, Katsuki,” he calls out. Yuuri is just heading towards them, breathing heavily from exertion. “You’re not getting enough height, and you’re not getting enough rotations, so you fall on your face. And I know for a fact that you can do better than that with your step sequence.”

Yuuri nods like he’s noticed all of these things and has already berated himself for it. The look is almost heartbreaking.

“You’re step sequence was amazing!” Viktor bursts out. “Your spins are faster than mine and that ina bauer! Perfect form in everything!”

Yuuri’s eyes flicker to Viktor, for the briefest moment before moving away again. It may be the first time Yuuri’s actually looked at him in hours.

“Y-You liked it?” he asks. Viktor nods eagerly.

“I loved it!”

“Enough,” Yurio says. “Viktor. On the ice. Now.”

Viktor grins. He winks at Yuuri. He’d be a hard act to follow but Viktor’s always been very good at surprises. To his surprise--and delight--Yuuri blushes a bright, burning red. He blows a kiss in his direction, just to make sure Yuuri understands him completely. Yuuri, somehow, turns redder. He is staring at the floor as if he’s hoping it would swallow him whole.

“I’m skating for you,” Viktor says. “Can’t have you taking away my titles, after all. Promise you’ll watch me?”

“I--Uh--Huh?” Yuuri says, head snapping up in surprise.

“Bloody hell,” Yurio says. “Stop flirting and fucking skate already.”

 

\--

 

It’s almost a given fact that when Viktor Nikiforov skates, Yuuri absolutely cannot look away. He just can’t. The world could be ending, the earth ripping apart from underneath his feet, the air burning a bright orange, and Yuuri would still be staring as Viktor skates, completely and absolutely entranced. Yuuri suspects that he’ll never get tired of watching it. Who can ever get tired of beauty? He’s almost disappointed when Viktor ends his short program and heads over in their direction.

Viktor Nikiforov, stupid, silly Viktor Nikiforov who knew absolutely nothing about Yuuri. He couldn’t stop watching even if he tried.

And he almost doesn’t notice when Viktor turns in his direction and says,

“What did you think of my step sequence? It’s not as good as yours of course, but maybe you have some suggestions?”

It takes Yurio nudging him twice in the ribs for Yuuri to realize that Viktor is talking to him.

“Huh?” he says with his usual eloquence.

“My step sequence,” Viktor repeats. “What did you think of it?”

“I-It was great, of course! And beautiful and--” Yurio nudges him in the ribs again.

“Tell him what you really think,” he says. He’s glaring at a very far side of the wall.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Yuuri says.

“The geezer’s step sequence is great, sure, but I spotted a hundred things that he could have done better, and knowing you, you probably spotted more. Don’t hold back on the guy, Katsuki. You’ll only inflate his ego. It’s large enough as it is.”

“Hey!”

Yuuri bites his lip. Yurio is right, of course. He’d spent the past four years of his life completely and utterly obsessed with Viktor Nikiforov. He’s seen him at his best and at his worst. Yuuri doesn’t think that Viktor could ever have a bad routine, but the one he’d just shown, for someone of his skill it’s almost… mediocre.

“It is very beautiful,” Yuuri says, stuttering slightly. “But in some of the spins. I think you are not--At the donut spin, I know you can go faster than that and...”

Somehow, one thing leads to another, and due to some circumstances that Yuuri is still not quite able to comprehend (not even counting the time travelling. Yuuri’s not counting the time travelling at all. He’s pushing the time travelling to the back of his mind to sit there and gather dust) he ends up giving Viktor Nikiforov advice on skating. He, Yuuri Katsuki, a dime-a-dozen skater who’s not even in the senior division yet is giving the living legend Viktor Nikiforov advice on skating.

And Viktor is taking it, nodding along like Yuuri is actually someone worth listening to. Yurio is watching them with unreadable eyes, occasionally piping up a suggestion. Viktor makes off-hand comments about Yuuri’s own routines as well, pieces of advice on jumps, on making his spins tighter. He doesn’t even seem to notice that he’s making them, throwing them into the conversation like they’re nothing.

Yuuri commits all of it to memory, along with the sound of Viktor’s voice when it’s not separated by speakers and a thousand miles. All of it makes his heart thud in his chest and a warm, unexplainable feeling spreading through his body.

 "You look sad in your routine," Yuuri comments. "It's not really a sad routine, though."

Viktor smiles at him, lips stretching thinly over his face, and doesn't answer.

They go through their routines again. Viktor’s is better for it, Yuuri thinks. He seems to take everything to heart, burying it deep into his soul and letting it out through his limbs. He doesn’t even have to be technically perfect, although he usually is, not with that kind of artistry.

Yuuri likes to think that he’s better for it, too. That Viktor had added something to his skating, like he always does. Watching Viktor from a screen has never failed to inspire him, to push him to be better than he actually is. Watching Viktor in person is something else entirely. Watching him skate, make less than perfect spins and occasionally fall on jumps, talk to Yuuri, ask him for advice; it’s different, all of it is different. There’s a stuttering in his chest that’s entirely unfamiliar and Viktor takes his breath away in an entirely new way.

It makes sense, a distant part of him thinks. Time travel isn’t even the surprising part. Not really.

“C’mon,” Yurio says. “It’s past midnight.”

Yuuri and Viktor turn towards him. He hadn’t even noticed the time. It feels so short, they’ve gone over too little.

“Five more minutes,” Yuuri says.

“I was going to say ten minutes,” Viktor says, blinking. Yurio rolls his eyes.

“We’re going,” he says. “Right now. You two are insufferable.”

 

\--

 

Yurio leaves them at Viktor’s apartment with the parting words, “Don’t do anything stupid,” which is nice, but not particularly helpful. And not something Viktor particularly wants to obey.

The apartment is lined with pictures of the two of them, smiling and very happy. His smile in the picture seems happier seems happier than Viktor’s felt in a long time. There are skaters Viktor knows and skaters he doesn’t. Yurio is in a lot of them, too, face in a permanent scowl. He seems looser though, more comfortable, than what Viktor’s seen. Everyone does, even Yuuri. Viktor doesn’t remember the last time he felt as free as he looked there.

“So what do you want to do tomorrow?” Viktor asks. Yuuri turns to him, shrugging. His eyes seem to see right through Viktor. He looks just about as exhausted as Viktor feels, body responding to a stronger gravity than the rest of the world. Not just exhausted but drained. Too much time to think along the walk home.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe try to get home? Skate.” Viktor has no idea how to get back to his own time but he is very good at skating. It will all probably work out in the end and in the meantime, Viktor will do what he always does; the thing he does best.

“How are we going to do that?”

Yuuri shrugs again, biting his lip and turning away. His fingers are anxiously twisting his shirt. Viktor resists the urge to take those hands and hold them in his own.

‘So… those pictures?” Viktor wonders if Yuuri’s noticed. He certainly has. It’s not a hard thing to miss. “What do you think about them?”

Yuuri visibly jumps, looking at anywhere but Viktor. So he has noticed the pictures.

“I-I don’t think I want to know,” Yuuri says finally. His cheeks are pink and Viktor can’t help but find it completely adorable. But then his words start to sink in and Viktor’s shoulders slump.

“Aren’t you curious at all?” he asks.

Yuuri shakes vehemently shakes his head. “No-No! I don’t--I’m not--” he cuts himself off, turning redder, which was apparently still possible. He says all of this in a tone that means he really, really wants to know. Viktor decides that he is getting very tired of this arrangement.

He’s just very, very tired.

“You seem uncomfortable around me,” he says.

Yuuri hastily shakes his head, arms flailing. Viktor merely raises an eyebrow.

“I may be a little uncomfortable,” Yuuri mutters. “You’re Viktor Nikiforov.”

Viktor sighs. Of course. It always comes down to that. It seems that he’s doomed to start friendships with people who are fans, which at this point is every skater. It had already been an uphill battle already with Chris and Viktor doesn’t thinking kissing Yuuri passionately in a deserted hallway during the Olympics is going to work.

(Or is it? It’s not like Viktor is unwilling to try.)

Viktor searches for something to say, or should he? He never really knows what to say to these kinds of things; he smiles sure, and thanks them if it’s a compliment, doesn’t say anything when it’s not. What Yuuri said wasn’t a compliment, but it wasn’t quite an insult, either, so what was Viktor to do? There’s awe there, but a longing as well, longing that went past hero worship.

Yuuri’s eyes widen, and he tries to backtrack, literally, figuratively, and everything in-between. His mouth opens, arms waving madly, body tilting backwards and into the armrest as he tries to--except he backtracks too far and tilts too much and before Viktor knows it, Yuuri is in a crumpled heap on the floor, staring at Viktor with wide eyes.

Viktor blinks once. Twice. His body reacts automatically, His hand reaches out to help Yuuri up except, it’s the same hand that is holding onto the throw pillow, coincidentally enough. That would have been fine, except that Viktor is ridiculously sleep-deprived and clearly not thinking straight because he winds up hitting Yuuri smack in the face with a throw pillow.

He hits Yuuri. In the face. With a throw pillow.

Shit.

Viktor hastily pulls away, an apology already on his`lips but the words fall away when he sees the look on Yuuri’s face. Yuuri is blinking owlishly at him, mouth gaping open. His hair is tousled, sticking up at the oddest of angles. It might, quite possibly, be the most adorable thing Viktor’s ever had the privilege of seeing. His heart is beating too quickly in his chest and there’s a buzzing in his head. His mouth can’t seem to stop itself from smiling.

Oh.

“You hit me with a pillow,” Yuuri says, sounding baffled. Viktor’s heartbeat, if possible, quickens.

“I did,” Viktor says.

“Wha--Why?”

“It was an accident?”

Yuuri’s brow furrows. “How do you accidentally hit someone in the face with a pillow?”

Good question. Viktor doesn’t really want to say that he was too distracted by Yuuri’s beautiful eyes. That may be coming on a bit too strong.

Oh what the hell.

“You can’t,” Viktor says with the straightest face he can manage. “I wanted to start a pillow fight.” And hits Yuuri in the pillow. Again.

A second passes. One excruciatingly long second where Viktor wonders if he made the wrong move. But then, Yuuri’s eyes widen again and before Viktor can react, Yuuri has tackled him to the couch, ripped the pillow from his hand, and is beating him in the face with it.

“Yuuri. Yuuri oh my god stop.” Viktor should have known better. He should have. Figure skaters are notoriously competitive creatures, especially after a hard day’s practice. He didn’t so much start a pillow fight, as a pillow _war._

“Yuuri stop, I’m sorry okay!”

Yuuri stills suddenly, body still half on top of Viktor. He’s staring at Viktor with a shocked expression, face pale.

“I uh--I didn’t mean to do that?” he says uncertainly. “It was just--ah!”

“Well I did!” Viktor’s gotten his hands on another throw pillow and had shoved it in Yuuri’s face. Yuuri’s arm flails at Viktor, trying to free himself, causing both boys to fall off the couch. Yuuri’s hand manages to get free and is clutching his pillow before his face protectively.

“Surrender?” Viktor asks sweetly. Yuuri’s face hardens.

“Never,” he says.

Viktor doesn’t know how long the pillow fight lasts. They move it to the bedroom at some point because throw pillows can only go so far in pillow fights and if they were going to have a proper one, then they would need proper pillows.

Yuuri hits like a madman with a pillow, though to be fair, so does Viktor. Viktor doesn’t really remember having a pillow fight before so he doesn’t really know how it’s done, but he does know that he hates losing very much. There are feathers flying everywhere and they might have destroyed at least two pillows. No matter. It’s their pillows anyway, technically speaking.

“Give up,” Viktor yells. “You can never win against me!”

Yuuri answers this by tackling him and they end up rolling in the ground, half-wrestling, half-hitting each other with pillows. Viktor’s hair is probably a tangled mess at this point, but for the first time, Viktor can’t bring himself to care. He catches a mischievous glint in Yuuri’s eyes and it honestly feels like the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He can die happy, right here and now, ten years in his future with a person he barely knows while having his first ever pillow fight.

“I have a sister,” Yuuri tells him before trying to smother him with a pillow. Viktor tries to scream but the sound is muffled by the pillow. Yuuri is a cheater. Does he not know the effect his eyes have on Viktor’s sanity?

Clearly, he does.

“I give up,” he tries to say. What comes out, because Yuuri still has a pillow on top of his face, is more like a series of groans. Based on the grin on Yuuri’s face, he understands it perfectly.

“What’s that?” he asks. He lifts the pillow slightly so that Viktor can breathe. How kind of him.

“I said I give up!”

Yuuri’s grin widens. Viktor’s heart stutters in his chest. He lifts the pillow away.

“You cheated,” he says.

“I won,” Yuuri says.

“By cheating.”

“How can someone cheat in a pillow fight? It doesn’t even have rules.”

By having eyes like yours, Viktor thinks.

“You did,” Viktor says. “You didn’t tell me how good at this you are.”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to,” Yuuri says. It occurs to  Viktor how close their faces are to each other. Yuuri’s still lying half on top of him. They’re so close that their noses are almost touching; Viktor can smell Yuuri’s breath mingling with his.

“Yuuri.” Viktor’s voice comes out in a breath. A moment passes and Viktor almost leans forward. Yuuri’s eyelids flutter to a close and Viktor thinks, “ _This is it. This is it”_ except it’s not. Yuuri’s eyes widen and he hastily pulls away, practically running to the other side of the room. Again, Viktor tries not to be too disappointed by this.

“We should probably go to sleep,” Viktor manages to force out.

“Yeah--Uh, yeah.”

“I’ll take the couch.”

“What? No!”

“I’m not letting you sleep on the couch, Yuuri.”

“You’re bigger than I am,” Yuuri says. “You should take the bed.”

“Nope,” Viktor says. “You’re taking the bed. I’m older so you have to listen to me. No arguments.”

“What--no, I’m not taking the bed, that’s just silly.”

“Do you know that this is technically my apartment? I’m not going to let you sleep in the couch in my own home.”

“That’s just ridiculous--I…”

“Yuuri,” Viktor says. “Just take the bed.”

Yuuri clears his throat. “We could uh--We could both take the bed. We woke up in it so we’ll fit and… Forget about it. You think it’s a stupid idea, don’t you?”

“I don’t think it’s a stupid idea,” Viktor says slowly. “It’s just you don’t seem very comfortable with me. I wouldn’t want to make you more uncomfortable than you are.”

“I’m not--Alright, I’m a little uncomfortable but… Uh, it’s a big bed?”

“It is.”

“And our future selves already share it?”

Viktor doesn’t bother to point out that their future selves are most likely married, or at the very least sleeping together. Judging from Yuuri’s red face, he is very aware of this fact.

“If you’re sure about this?”

Yuuri squares his jaw. “I am,” he says. “It’s a big bed.”

Viktor is more than a little breathless and he doesn’t know why.

“I’ll uh--I’ll just go to the bathroom and…”

Viktor doesn’t wait for Yuuri to answer, just flees and doesn’t look back. It takes him a moment to breathe, count to ten and remember that damn it Nikiforov, you’re better than this. It’s weird that a person he just met is enough to force him into a stuttering mess.

But then one look from those lovely brown eyes...

Nope. He’s better than this. He’s kept a cool head on his shoulders for thirteen years and he can do it for one night. One night where he’s going to be sharing a bed with one of the loveliest creatures he’s ever had the privilege of seeing. Yeah, he can do this.

He gets out of the bathroom to find Yuuri already on the bed, clutching a pillow in his arms tightly. There’s a tight little frown on his mouth that doesn’t sit well on his face. Viktor finds that he doesn’t like it.

“I didn’t expect you to start a pillow fight,” Yuuri says, an odd look in his eye. His voice is thick with sleep.

“I didn’t expect you to go along with it,” Viktor says. He climbs onto the bed, hair falling in gentle curls around him from being braided for so long. Viktor usually braids it before going to sleep but not tonight; he’ll deal with the tangles when they get there. Yuuri’s right. It’s a big bed; their shoulders don’t even brush together.

“You’re still not comfortable around me,” Viktor says.

Yuuri hums quietly.

“I want you to be comfortable,” Viktor says. “Who do you want me to be for you, Yuuri?”

Yuuri turns to him, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Do you want a friend? A mentor? A boyfriend?”

Yuuri’s brow deepens. He pursues his lips.

“What are you talking about? You’re Viktor Nikiforov,” he says.

“Yes, I know,” Viktor says impatiently. “But who do _you_ want me to be?”

“I want you to be Viktor Nikiforov,” Yuuri says. “You’re you. Why would you want to be anyone else?”

“To make you happy?”

“You already make me happy,” Yuuri murmurs. His eyelids are fluttering to a close. “You don’t have to be anything but you to do that.”

Viktor’s throat feels strange, like it’s closing in on itself. He’s blinking far too much and his chest feels much too light. Yuuri doesn’t notice any of this, already asleep and clutching a pillow to his chest.

He’s happy, he thinks, he’s really, really happy.

Viktor doesn’t stand a fucking chance.

 

\--

 

Consciousness comes to Yuuri slowly, and sense even slower. He’s gotten used to waking up in a bed that’s not his; it’s a given if he’s an International Figure Skater, with all the travelling and competitions.

He’s not used to waking up with a person right next to him. It takes him a moment to register who the sprawl of silver hair and upturned features belong to. When he does, surprisingly, he doesn’t panic instantly.

Later on, he’ll blame the mornings. Yuuri’s utterly useless in the mornings.

“Viktor,” he mumbles. “What time is it?”

Viktor doesn’t answer. His pale eyelashes flutter silently through his dream. It’s like a dream. This is the stuff of Yuuri’s dreams except for the anxiety that’s still coiled deep around his chest. He’s keeping it at bay for now but it won’t last. It never lasts.

He tries to crawl out of bed as silently as he could. He’s almost thrown a leg over the bed when he feels an arm tighten around his waist. Yuuri’s heart climbs to his throat. Holy fucking shit shit shit.

“Five more minutes,” Viktor mumbles. His eyes are still closed. He doesn’t look awake yet. Yuuri doubts Viktor would be clinging to him like this if he’s awake.

“I just uh--”

“ _Yuuri_.” Yuuri freezes. That’s his name. That’s definitely his name.

Yuuri thinks it says a lot about him and his current situation that his brain doesn’t immediately go to a dream. That’s probably progress.

“Okay,” Yuuri says. “Five minutes.”

Viktor’s arms are strong and firmly wrapped around his waist. His face is pressed against Yuuri’s shoulder.

“Yuuri?” Viktor murmurs. “I’m really glad this happened.”

“Huh?”

“This. Time Travel. I found the most beautiful skater because of it.”

“I’m nothing special,” Yuuri whispers.

“I think you are. I’m glad I found you.”

“Viktor… You don’t know anything about me. You don’t--”

“No,” Viktor says. “But I want to know.”

Yuuri closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath. He should pull away, knows that he should pull away because this is a dream and a nightmare all mixed into one thing brought about by impossible circumstances. It’s not supposed to be real.

His heart feels as if it’s about to burst out of his chest. Viktor is at his side, warm and real and strong. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

“Stay with me, Yuuri,” Viktor murmurs, voice still tinged with sleep. “Just for a little while.”

“Alright,” he says.

 

\--

 

Things between them change after that night. Yuuri wakes up and… He wakes up and there’s something different about the way he looks at Viktor, like he’s actually seeing him and not… Not whatever image it is Viktor is trying to put up. It’s strange and Viktor is entirely unused to the feeling. It makes his heart thud in his chest, and the feeling dances too closely to terror for Viktor to be completely comfortable with it.

 _It’s delight,_ his mind whispers, though he’s not sure he wants to believe it.

Yuuri reaches for him that morning, and Viktor is hopeless to do anything but reach back.

“Stay with me,” Viktor blurts out. It’s too easy, to get lost in the warm feeling of Yuuri’s arms that he can almost ignore the ice that creeps up his chest. There is a warmth to Yuuri’s smile that melts the sadness and exhaustion away. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready to let it go.

Yuuri closes his eyes again, letting out a shuddering breath. He seems to come to a decision.

“Alright,” he says.

A part of Viktor wonders if whatever they have, this mad thing of time travel and beauty and those lovely brown eyes that seem to look at him and see _Viktor,_ this thing that seems more dream than real will last.

A part of him wonders if he wants to.

Something flutters in Viktor’s chest, and if he didn’t know better, he’d probably call it hope.

 

 

 

 

 

 

\--

 

_epilogue_

 

\--

 

_Viktor opens his eyes and blindly reaches for---_

 

_A bed. An empty bed._

 

_(There was something, a feeling, an emotion he can’t quite name only that it had been good it had been the best thing that’s happened to him in his entire life and where did it--)_

 

_He bolts upright, breathing heavily, eyes wildly scanning…._

 

_He’s at the rink, Of course he’s at the rink. He remembers falling asleep there last night (last night? was it really last night? it had felt like an eternity and then some had passed) and then… And then._

 

_(--Flashes of dark hair and lovely brown eyes and music dancing across unfamiliar limbs as if he was made of it and a clenching in his chest that he doesn’t think he’s felt in years and_

 

_Happy. He was happy._

 

_Viktor doesn’t remember the last time he was happy.)_

 

_A dream, he thinks. A really good dream._

 

_Across the ocean, a young, Japanese skater closes his eyes and takes a deep breath_

**Author's Note:**

> The Viktor here is 20 and Yuuri is sixteen. 
> 
> Yurio is around 22 and still going strong.


End file.
